


Bustitution

by Prochytes



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-31
Updated: 2011-07-31
Packaged: 2017-10-22 01:32:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/232226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prochytes/pseuds/Prochytes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A game of thieves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bustitution

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for “Planet of the Dead”. Originally written and posted on LJ in 2011 for Porn Battle XII.

“What is that droll phrase the poker players use? ‘Read ’em and weep’?” Christina grinned smugly as she hefted a sack on to the dashboard. “I hope you’re ready to cry me a river.”

 

The bus’s only passenger raised an eyebrow.

 

“Sorry. Couldn’t resist.” Christina peeled back the sacking, and brandished aloft her prize. “Ta-da.”

 

“Oh. I see. That’s... nice.”

 

“Nice?” Christina scowled. “The Mask of Agamemnon is not just _nice_.”

 

River pursed her lips. “Hate to break this to you, sweetie, but that mask wasn’t his, whatever poor old Heinrich might have thought. See how small the face is? Wide-ruling Agamemnon was a much bigger man.” She smiled ruminatively. “Bigger in, oh, so many ways.”

 

“Well, his or not, I’m curious to see what the notorious Dr. Song can offer to match it. Or shall we just admit straight up that I’m the better thief?”

 

“I came here empty-handed.”

 

“So, you concede the wager.”

 

“Not at all, my dove. The point is what I came here _in_.”

 

Christina frowned. “I don’t follow.”

 

River waved a hand towards the door. “Then lead.”

 

“No can do, I’m afraid.” Christina had not budged from the driver’s seat. “If we’re going anywhere, you’re first. Don’t take this the wrong way, Dr. Song. But I’ve heard you live your life bang out of order.”

 

“Was that supposed to be Cockney?” River tossed back over her shoulder as she stepped off the platform.

 

 “The nearest approximation a lacrosse-playing girlhood would allow.” Christina exhaled, and rose to follow. “Still, as a not very wise man once said: _allons-y_.”

 

River led the way across the lot. Christina’s eyes widened as she saw what was parked at the far end. “Hang on a minute...” She looked back whence they had come. “How...?”

 

River’s grin was triumphant. “I stole your bus.”

 

“But we were only just inside it.” Christina looked back again. “And it’s still there.”

 

“I know. The one I lifted is seven thousand years further down its time-line than yours.”

 

“Stealing things from the _future_ is a bit off.”

 

 River shrugged.“You didn’t say I couldn’t in the bet. Don’t worry, though. I’m semi-reliably informed that double-deckers can handle Blinovitch Limitation. Just not low bridges.”

 

“Seven thousand years, you say?” Christina approached the new (old?) bus warily, as one might a crotchety elephant, or an officious security camera. “The old girl looks well on it. My respect for British industry is much increased.”

 

“Oh, it’s been refurbished several times. Once in the Forty-Seventh Century, for example, during its stint as the Battle-Barge of the Fourfold Pontiff, and once when they stashed  it in the Celaeno Archive. Scholars have had – will have – heaps of fun bickering over the murals.”

 

Christina could now see that the space on the sides of the bus where the ads had been (and where, across the parking lot, they yet remained) was embellished with pictures. “What do they depict?”

 

“Scenes from the bus’s storied past. The only anti-grav double-decker in the Universe was quite a collector’s item, so the Pontiff had his personal psychometrist read every inch for all the vivid moments that it had witnessed. He ordered them to be painted on the sides.”

 

“Clearly a broad-minded fellow, then, your Pontiff.” Christina squinted at the murals. “Some of this stuff is jolly racy. Look at that girl with the black hair near the top left corner. She must have been remarkably limber to get into that... position... Oh. Oh my.” She blushed. “Looks like I’ll be on very good form that day.”

 

“ _That_ day?” River had somehow contrived to move much closer. “Can you see who else is in the picture?”

 

“Well, given the relative... positions...” Damn the air pollution of the Smoke. It left one’s throat so confoundedly dry. “... it’s hard to make out more than the curly hair. Oh.”

 

“Yes.” River breathed on Christina’s neck. “It is.”

 

“I know when I’m beaten,” Christina sighed, as River steered her back to the younger bus. “Be gentle.”

 

“My pleasure, sweetie. Now, let’s make some murals.”

 

FINIS


End file.
